


A Matter of Time

by scarletmanuka



Series: A Matter of Love [6]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: John puts Sherlock in his place, M/M, Mycroft has to work, Sibling Incest, Sulking Sherlock, holmescest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-10
Updated: 2017-05-10
Packaged: 2018-10-30 06:47:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10871322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scarletmanuka/pseuds/scarletmanuka
Summary: The final snippet before I start posting a Matter of Family! Set nine months afterA Matter of Trustand references that so won't make much sense if you haven't been reading, sorry!





	A Matter of Time

**Author's Note:**

> The final snippet before I start posting a Matter of Family! Set nine months after [A Matter of Trust](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9517214/chapters/21521021) and references that so won't make much sense if you haven't been reading, sorry!

Pulling the last slide towards him, Sherlock gave a little smile as he checked his watch. He would finish his experiment exactly when he’d estimated he would, then he’d drop by Angelo’s to pick up dinner, and arrive at Mycroft’s house just before his brother got home. He’d not seen him in several days and he was itching to be near him. They’d been lovers for going on nine months now and although the new relationship high had worn off and they weren’t  _ quite _ shagging like rabbits anymore, they were still very much attached at the hip. Well,  _ most _ of the time anyway…

Mycroft had been busy lately preparing for an Anti Terrorism Conference being held the following week and had been working ridiculously long hours. Several times Sherlock had arrived at his house, only to fall asleep and wake in the early hours of the morning as Mycroft was crawling into bed. Since he’d had clients to see or cases with Lestrade to work, he’d left before his brother had even woken up. He understood that the work had to take precedence at times - better than most - but it didn't help to dull the ache that throbbed low in his chest as he thought about how much he missed his brother.

He’d gotten used to discussing their days together, either in person over dinner, or (if they couldn’t see each other), by phone calls or lengthy texting sessions. They helped each other decompress, and deal with the mundane matters that were thrust upon them by people who couldn’t manage the simplist of things. His mind seemed so much quieter afterwards, and his focus was sharper. He’d come to rely upon these quiet times almost more than he did the intimate moments between them.

That wasn’t to say their sex life had disappeared. They had worked through the exploration stage, had experimented with different things (both being more than willing to try anything once), and now had come to understand exactly what the other liked and were comfortable with each other. The excitement may have worn off, but their intimacy had increased ten fold. The moments just after a bout of lovemaking were Sherlock’s favourites - those precious moments where they clung to each other, regaining their breaths, waves of pleasure slowly fading only to be replaced with a feeling of utter calm and relaxation, of sheer contentment. They would end up sticky and messy but neither were willing to rush those times just to clean up, the feeling of closeness too precious to pass on.

Sherlock was looking forward very much to re-establishing that connection tonight, to simply bask in Mycroft’s  _ presence _ . His brother had promised he would leave his work at the office and dedicate his entire focus to Sherlock for the evening. The detective’s anticipation was so great that he was almost thrumming with energy as he packed up his slides into their cases and cleared away the table (which he made sure he did now since Rosie had started walking and had already needed stitches once after grabbing a petri dish and smashing it on the ground). 

He had packed an overnight bag and was gathering his toiletries together when his phone chirped.

_ I’m so sorry, Sherlock, but I’m not going to get out as early as I’d hoped tonight. The French delegate is causing a ruckus about his allotted time during the conference and if I don’t get it sorted, it’s going to blow out into a major diplomatic nightmare - MH _

Feeling a sudden queasiness as he read the message, he sank down onto the edge of the bath tub. 

_ How late do you think you’ll be? - SH _

_ At this point I can’t say - MH _

_ What’s your best guess? ‘Forget dinner but still spend the night’ late or ‘Don’t even bother coming because I’ve broken my promise’ kind of late? - SH _

_ That’s not entirely fair, Sherlock. I didn’t ask for this to occur - MH _

_ I don’t care about fair right now, Mycie! I care that I haven’t seen you in 3 days! Do you have any idea how much I miss you? - SH _

_ Probably the same amount that I miss you - just because it’s my work that has interrupted our plans doesn’t mean I care for you any less - MH _

_ You don’t seem to be too phased that you won’t see me. I guess I’m just not as much fun as the French delegate! -SH _

_ Now you’re just being childish, Sherlock. I will be home as soon as I can, but it will most likely be too late to eat dinner with you. Hopefully it will be before you go to bed - MH _

_ So what you’re saying is I probably won’t see you at all, but you want me to make the effort just in case? - SH _

_ I was saying that I’ll do my best to get home to be able to spend even a little time with you, but I can’t predict the future - MH _

_ A little time? I’m  _ **_so_ ** _ glad I mean so very much to you that I’m deemed worthy of  a  _ **_little_ ** _ time with you. The cockles of my heart are positively tingling - SH _

_ The more time you spend griping at me about this, the less chance I’ll get home to see you before you go to sleep - MH _

_ If I’m not going to see you, I may as well stay here and sleep in my own bed. I’m not going all that way to be alone in your stupid house - SH _

_ Fine, Sherlock. If that’s how you want to be, then so be it. Enjoy your evening - MH _

Sherlock stared at his phone, waiting for another text to come through but it never did. No matter how much he’d annoyed his brother in the past, he’d usually gotten an  _ I love you _ at the end at the very least. He didn't care that  _ he _ hadn’t said it - Mycroft should have said it anyway. The longer his screen stayed silent, the more watery his eyes became and by the time he gave up on having a message come through, they had overflown and his cheeks were damp. He swiped the tears away angrily and stormed into his bedroom, hurling his phone across the room (but gently since it wouldn’t do to smash the screen - again), and then found his pyjamas. After pulling on his dressing gown, he stalked into the sitting room, not wanting his moping to be contained to the bedroom. He flung himself down on the couch, curling up into a small ball, and proceeded to sulk.

That was how John found him when he returned home from the pub three hours later. The doctor paused as he stepped into the room, taking in the sight. “I wasn’t expecting you home,” he said carefully.

“Apparently the needs of a whinging French delegate are  _ much _ more important than me so our plans have been cancelled.”

“Sorry to hear that. I bet Mycroft is pretty upset.” He moved straight into the kitchen and put the kettle on.

“Obviously not upset enough to tell them to all go and hang so he can actually spend some time with me,” he snapped. He heard a long suffering sigh from the kitchen and rolled over in a huff, facing the back of the couch. A few minutes later he heard the kettle boil and John was coming back into the sitting room. 

“Here, I made you a cuppa,” the blonde said.

“Don’t want it,” he muttered.

“Sherlock.”

“What?”

“Don’t you think you’re being a little childish about this?”

He twisted around to glare at his flatmate. “Are you channelling my brother now?”

“No, just stating the obvious. Even Rosie would be ashamed at the bad name you’re giving children everywhere.”

His eyes narrowed. “Speaking of, where is Rosie?”

“She already fell asleep so Mrs Hudson said to leave her downstairs with her. And don’t change the subject.”

“I didn’t change the subject,” he argued. “This conversation is  _ over _ .” He flopped back down and buried his face in the cushion.

“For fuck’s sake,” he heard John mutter. “Sherlock, turn around so we can talk.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t want to.”

“Please?”

“Just leave me alone.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re upset, Sherlock and I want to help.”

He rolled over. “You can’t help, John. No one can. Mycroft doesn’t have time for me anymore and there’s nothing anyone can do because his work will  _ always _ be more important than me.”

John levelled a ‘are you for real’ look at him. “Wow, just wow. I can’t...no, I really can’t believe it.”

“What?”

John ran a hand through his silvering hair. “Do you remember a few months ago how that Dutch string quartet was in town and you desperately wanted to go, even though you’d only mentioned it at the very last minute and it was sold out?”

“Yes,” he mumbled. “What of it?”

“Mycroft spent hours online trying to find tickets up for re-sale - himself, mind you. He didn’t fob it off to Anthea like I’d expected. And he eventually found some but he paid three times what they were worth, just so you would get to go. And what happened next, Sherlock?”

The younger man lowered his eyes. “I got caught up chasing a jewel thief and didn't attend,” he muttered.

“Exactly. And then a few weeks after that, your brother had planned a romantic dinner at your favourite restaurant and you never showed up. Why was that?”

Sherlock hesitated, not wanting to admit the truth. John glared at him and he finally said, “I was investigating the zombie cat case.”

“Which if I’m not mistaken turned out to be an entirely different cat that just looked remarkably similar. You stood your brother up for a cat, Sherlock but I don’t recall  _ Mycroft _ sulking about it.”

“That was different!”

“How?” John crossed his arms and stared him down and eventually Sherlock looked away, knowing he couldn’t give an explanation.

“It just was,” he grumbled, picking up his tea and taking a long drink so he wouldn’t have to meet his flatmate’s eyes.

“Sherlock, surely you can see that these sorts of things happen. It’s horrible and it leaves you feeling like crap, especially when you miss someone as much as I know you miss Mycroft. But it’s simply a part of life. You need to be an adult about it and just move on - make plans for another night and hope they work out.” 

“But I wanted to see him  _ tonight _ .”

“I know you did, but he's caught up at work and you need to get over that.”

“Urgh! It's so not fair!” he wailed, throwing himself back down on the couch. 

He felt John pat him on the shoulder and then heard the doctor move back to the kitchen. “I’m guessing you didn't have any dinner?” he called.

“No,” Sherlock replied sulkily.

“I’ll make you a sandwich then, shall I?”

He didn't respond and John took his silence for acquiescence and began making one. The consulting detective pulled himself out of his funk just long enough to note the difference between John now and the John he shared a flat with nine months ago. The man’s demeanour had returned almost to how it had been at the beginning of their friendship; he hardly ever lost his temper now, he was much less violent, and he appeared to be genuinely happy for Sherlock and Mycroft. He’d been given a variation of the TD:12 drug and his memory of his visit to Sherrinford had been erased, however he still recalled the events leading up to it. When they had gotten home, he had given Sherlock a heartfelt apology for the way he’d been treating him since Mary had died, and also explained that although he still harboured romantic feelings for the detective, he respected the relationship the brothers shared and he couldn’t imagine anyone more perfect for Sherlock than Mycroft. It had all been rather surreal and Sherlock had worried he’d been drugged himself as it all seemed to slot into place perfectly. 

He’d been sickeningly happy since then, and this was the first real speed bump he and Mycroft had suffered since the monumental change to their relationship. They’d bickered a little, and their competitiveness hadn’t diminished at all, but according to someone who considered himself a relationship expert (John, so Sherlock took it with a grain of salt), they were well overdue for their first proper fight. Sherlock hadn’t realised just how much it would  _ hurt _ . But as angry as he was feeling at his brother, and disappointed that their plans had been cancelled, as well as resentful of Mycroft’s work commitments, all he really wanted to do was wrap his arms around his sibling and never let go. 

He was pulled from his musings by John, who handed over the sandwich and then watched over him to ensure he ate it. He did so without complaint, and even agreed to watch one of the doctor’s horrible shows. It was close to eleven by the time John bid him goodnight and Sherlock decided to seek his own bed as well. The emotional turmoil of the evening had left him feeling tired and lethargic and he hoped a good night’s sleep would clear his mind. 

Sherlock tossed and turned for a long time before finally falling into a fitful sleep, only to be woken a short time later by his bed dipping as someone crawled under the covers. He cracked an eye open as a slender arm was wrapped around his middle and he was surrounded by a familiar scent.

“Mycie? What are you doing here?” he asked, trying to determine if he was dreaming or not.

“I wanted to see you,” Mycroft replied simply.

“I thought you didn't  _ want _ to see me…”

The older man sighed. “Could we perhaps leave the talking for the morning? All I want to do now is hold you, Sherlock, not get into the same circular discussion we’ve already had via text tonight.”

He swallowed hard and nodded in the darkness. “I’m glad you’re here,” he whispered, shuffling closer into the embrace. 

“I told you I’d do everything I could to see you before you fell asleep. I was a bit late, but I’m here now, Sherlock.” He pressed a kiss to his brow. “Now go back to sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up in the morning.”

“Okay.” He kissed his brother’s cheek and settled himself down, but knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep until he’d done one last thing. “Mycie?”

“Hmmm?”

“I love you.”

“I love you too, Sherlock. Goodnight.”

“Night, Mycie.”

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I hope these have been tiding you over for now! Our next big adventure will be kicking off in about a week so if you want to know when, make sure you subscribe to the series, or check back often :)


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